I’ve decided to write another novel.
For a long while I felt I had sufficient other writing avenues to satisfy my creative urges, but no more. It’s time to try something else. Rather, I’m currently in the process of trying something else. Thing is though, the Canterbury summer is not my optimal novelling time – too warm, too much to do, too much other stuff going on; too difficult to keep focus.
Busy hotness notwithstanding, the time is now. I found myself forming the first idea a few months ago. Every spare moment I am building on that idea. To be fair the idea is now pretty massive. It needs to come out.
I started yesterday. Today is Saturday. To date I have written a shade less than 2000 words in my most peculiar of novelling techniques: I start with a title. I write the beginning. I then continue through until the end. It’s truly bizarre stuff.
It’s called, Fighting for The Future, or Fighting for Our Future, or something like that. I’m not going to try and tell you what it’s about because, well, it’s a novel. It’s about many things. The theme however, is modern day world war. I think. Can’t really be sure what it’s about until I’ve finished writing it. That’s all I’ll say on it for now, but as I am much too lazy to maintain this site and write a novel, I’ll simply post the latest excerpt from the aforementioned piece of literary genius, each week.
Couple of things first. As I have zero intention of replicating my usual novelling schedule of ’80,000 words in 40 days’, your weekly excerpt mightn’t be much; also, given that what you see will be the draft, it is subject to, and in fact probably will, change.
This week I’ll rip ‘n stick the prologue, which is quite short.
I have no idea of the time, I am no longer certain of the date, but if the temperature is anything to go by, I can be pretty sure its still winter. That makes it somewhere close to July 2014. Anyway, like I said, its cold, I’m hungry, I wish I had a better way of killing time than just writing these dumb notes, that probably no ones gonna ever read anyway, but I don’t, so I am.
Still fighting for our future, K.
The absence of screams belied her pain.
The level of discipline she had been forced to uphold since childhood was so deeply entrenched in the young woman’s disposition that even as she lay giving birth to her first child; even as the breached baby prolonged the agony of labour for another excruciating hour; even as the blood loss surpassed two litres; even as the husband squeezed her hand and begged her to accept pain medication; even as the colour drained from her attractive features; even as the final skerrick of life left her supple body…
“Congratulations, Mr Williams, you have a beautiful baby boy.”
…Even then, she didn’t make a sound.